


Mando'a for Beginners

by mapplestrudel



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Freeform, POV Alternating, Reader-Insert, Short Chapters, don't judge pls xD, highly self-indulgent semi self-insert, i just want Paz cuddles okay?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29486460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapplestrudel/pseuds/mapplestrudel
Summary: You're stranded in a galaxy far, far away and hijinx ensue.
Relationships: Paz Vizsla/Reader, Paz Vizsla/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. Su'cuy

CLONK  
RUMBLE  
RIP  
BONK

THUD.

Ouch.

„Dank Ferrik!“

You exclaim to nobody in particular. Except maybe for your butt. It took the landing and hurts af.  
You count your limbs and take a pain inventory – everything‘s there, nothing is bleeding, nothing seems broken, just a bit bruised… Alright! Could be worse, right? Right?

You stand up and pat off some dirt of your clothes and, finally, look around - right into the openings of several… blasters? Aaaand a vibro-knife. Yep, that‘s definitely a vibro-knife and it‘s vibing much too close at your cheek for your liking.  
As your eyes slowly adapt to the dim light of these new surroundings, you recognize the T-visors of the folks holding those weapons and…

Well, shit.

Your hands go up, your eyes squeeze shut and you blurt out the only thing you can think of facing a bunch of Mandalorians with drawn weapons:

„... Su‘cuy..??“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Su'cuy [Soo-COO-ee] --> Hi! --> Short for Su cuy'gar [Soo COO-ee-gar] --> Hello - lit. *You're still alive.*  
> (Which is just as funny as Klingons saying hello with "What do you want!" xD)


	2. Aruetii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confusion will be your epitaph.

"Ha!" Somebody behind you laughs, and the vibro-knife disappears.

You open one eye and see one of them approching, armour in brown and black, with white markings on his helmet that... faintly look like rabbit-ears? He growls something in Mando'a you don't understand.

And you're not sure what to do:  
Be scared at the potential danger you're in?  
Be delighted at hearing the language from actual native speakers?  
It sounds so beautiful! But damn it, there's _still_ blasters pointing at you!

"Please don't kill me... " You squeek, hands trembling. "I'm not supposed to be here."

"Then why _are_ you here?" the other one growls. "You're an imperial spy, aren't you? Aruetii! How did you find the covert?"

\- "What? NO! _Fuck_ the Empire!" How _dare_ he! But you're scrambling for words, not much time for indignation now. "I didn't find... I didn't... I wasn't even looking!" you squeek again, exasperated.

He is close now and further invades your personal space with his imposing frame and blaster, so you take a few steps back - and, _of course_ , immediately clonk into somebody else.  
You turn around to see an even larger man in blue armour, playing with an unvibing vibro-knife. As you strain your neck to look up, he tilts his bucket in a way that makes you think he's mocking you, like "Well, little mouse, let's see how you get out of this one."

You stick your tongue out at him.

And immediately put your hands over your mouth as to hide the gesture. Where did that even come from?  
Certainly not from your knees that are barely holding you up anymore.

Then you notice the big hole in the ceiling.

"Wait," you point up, "is that where.. 

Yes.  
Yes it is.  
And you still have ceiling crumbs in your hair.

"But how...?" you wonder, trying to ignore the two Mandos and wrap your head around what happened.  
Ah yes, right. It's been: _a. day._

You'd forgotten to set your alarm and got up too late.  
In a hurry you then broke your favourite cup which meant no coffee for you at all.  
Then your apartment key broke inside its lock, your bike had a puncture, your bottle a leak, and your boss said they'd fire you if you're late once again.  
Then the last thing you remember is the faint smell of... of... Huh.

Basically, ending up in the galaxy far, far away? - Might as well happen.

You shrug and turn your attention back to the room.

Rabbit-ears apparently does not like to be ignored and has started shouting at you.  
The Big Blue Guy audibly rolls his eyes, grabs you by your neck's hem and starts walking, shoving the other one out of the way. 

"Ne'johaa, Dric!" He booms, and Dric is immediately quiet. "This is for the Armorer to decide."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (from [mandoa.org](https://www.mandoa.org)):  
> aruetii -- [ah-roo-AY-tee] -- traitor, foreigner, outsider  
> Ne'johaa! -- [Neh-JOH-hah] -- Shut up!


	3. Gedet'ye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You exhaust your knowledge of Mando'a and "negotiate" the terms of your surrender (jk, you're pleading for your life, as any sensible person would do)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not what I expected from this chapter, but here we are xD

The Armorer is … an experience.  
You're trembling but you also feel strangely calm under her gaze, like you'll accept any judgement she'll deliver because _it will be right_.

She exchanges some words in Mando'a with the Blue Guy, Dric throws in an "Aruetii!" for good measure, and then her focus is completely on you. 

You instinctly try to duck away, eyes flickering between her inscrutable visor, the simmering Forge in the background and the hammer in her hand. You've _seen_ her taking out a group of stromtroopers with it and you can't help the image of your own crushed skull flashing before your eyes.

You shake your head in an attempt to clear it.  
You're good. You're fine. Everything will be fine. 

Everything.  
Will.  
Be.  
Fine.

"Tion jorhaa'i mando'a?"

Her voice rips you out of your inner pep talk. And you actually understand it! How often have you had this conversation in your head, looking up words on the internet, daydreaming left and right... It takes you a while to dig into the Mando'a regions of your brain, but eventually you can answer:

"Elek? .. uh... kih?" 

_Yes? A little bit?_

"Tion gar gai?" 

You tell her your name.

"Tion'jor gar olar?"  
It takes a while to parse, but it _is_ a good question. Why _are_ you here? You scrape through your head, unaware of your scrunched "thinking face", trying to find an answer. But there is none.

"Ni... ni nakar'mir - ni nakar'mi." You stutter, because, nope you don't know, you have no clue whatsoever.  
The only thing you do know is: "Ibic nu'yaim." 

_This is not home._

She hums in consideration.  
"Gar serim." _That much is true._

There's a pause then, and she just watches you. As do all the others that have gathered around the entrance. And the pause grows longer and longer and finally you can't stand it anymore, and it just breaks out of you:

"Please don't kill me... Please don't kick me out! Please? I can.. I can work! Not sure if I have any skills of value for you, but I can learn! Please... I know supplies are tight, but I don't need much I swear. I'll work for it! Just please don't kick me out. I wouldn't stand a chance outside there.. I mean, I won't stand a chance inside here, too, so like fml right now?... I'm just.. I'm weak, okay? And squishy. There's no much need to fight where I am from.. so my strength is rather in "soft skills"... sorta? Oh please! There's gotta be _something_ I could do to help around here? I swear I'm not.. I am _not_ a spy! I'm just.. well..." You sigh. "I'm lost. This is not my universe and I have no clue where my home is."

Your shoulders slump as you really grasp the immensity of your indisposition, and you haven't felt that small in your whole life. But you know you can work with what you have and figure something out on the go, as you always have, so you look up again at her with new conviction and this time your pleading puppy eyes hold her gaze:

"Please give me a chance? Gedet'ye!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (from [mandoa.org](https://www.mandoa.org) and my own little grasp of it. Not completely sure about the pronunciations, though): 
> 
> Gedet'ye -- [Geh-DET-yay] -- Please  
> Tion jorhaa'i mando'a? -- You speak Mando'a?  
> elek -- [EL-eck] -- yes  
> kih -- [kee] -- small (it's the closest thing to "a little bit" that I could find)  
> Tion gar gai? -- [Tee-ON gar- GUY] -- What's your name?  
> Tion'jor gar olar? -- [Tee-ON-jor gar OH-lar] -- Why are you here?  
> nakar'mir -- [Nah-kah-MEER] -- be unaware, not know (verb)  
> Ni nakar'mi. -- I don't know.  
> Ibic nu'yaim. -- This (is) not-home.  
> Gar serim -- [Gar sair-EEM] -- *Yes, you're right.* *That's it.*


	4. Jate'urcye gar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hammer Time!  
> And unexpected help.

The Armorer suddenly swings her hammer and you freeze and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and expect the impact. 

It never comes.  
You just feel a little breeze from her momentum haunt your skin.

So you open your eyes – and look right into her visor. It's dark, no hint of eyes but you feel probed right into your soul while the hammer still hovers right at your temple. 

"Are you afraid?" she asks, curiously, no hint of malignance.

You nod, a sob getting lost in hitched breath. 

"Will you back down?" 

Now you're confused (that is, even more than before). Is this some sort of test? You muster the meager amounts of courage that are left in your bones, dig a bit deeper for some spite and press a trembling 

"No." 

through your teeth.

Again there is a prolonged pause. Why does she have to be such a dramatic theater kid? You pray that your legs hold you up just a little bit longer. Just a little bit.  
And another bit.  
And another bit.

"Very well." The hammer disappears and you let go of the breath you’ve been holding through puffed cheeks.

„You may stay – _if_ you can find somebody to vouch for you.“

_Funny woman, you think (but like, funny in the most scary and awe-inspiring way!). Who in their right mind would you vouch for /you/, a complete stranger in a strange land who had just fallen through a hole in the roof. ~ Through a hole in the roof there fell a hobbit - and was immediately squished to mush by the Armorer’s hammer… ~ Nonono, not yet! There’s still hope!_

You shyly look around because, well, what have you got to lose. But whoever you look at, pointedly averts their gaze. 

Great.

You finally look up to the Big Blue Guy beside you, but he shakes his bucket. 

"Don’t look at me. I don’t think you belong here." 

You shrug and huff a half-hearted laugh.  
"Heh. That’s at least a thing we can agree on." 

_"I'll_ vouch for her," a new voice suddenly interrupts and there’s a short commotion as the crowd, you included, crane their necks to see who has spoken. You don’t see until a rather small hand touches the Blue Guy’s arm and seemingly effortless moves him aside. 

"Out of the way, Paz," a stern but friendly voice is heard. "Let me see who we have here." 

It’s a woman, not much larger than yourself. Her beskar'gam is painted in red and white and you can see silver shimmering along the edges. You also recognize the Red Sigil on her pauldron, designating her as some sort of medic. She has a cane in her right hand to support a stiff leg, but her walk is proud and upright. 

"Buir!" the Armorer groans. 

„What?“ She looks at the Armorer, who, apparently, is her daughter (and you wonder how _old_ both of them are...).  
„Somebody has to give her a chance. She knows some Mando’a, speaks it even, although the accent is… well, very peculiar. She’s not a coward, as you have just aptly proven -“ _(You’d beg to differ because you were merely frozen in fear at your spot, but you opt to not say anything for now, and continue to listen.)_ \- „and I have a feeling she has some stories to tell. I'd like some new stories. Don’t you?“ 

A reluctant murmur of agreement travels through the Forge. 

The Armorer sighs.  
Whatever she had expected, it was not this. But she stands by her word. 

"Alright. She's your ward now. She is not to leave the covert under any circumstance. And if she's caught violating any of the house rules, she'll be punished accordingly."

The Medic nods. "This is the way."

And it echoes through the room. "This is the way."  
And you inadvertently get boosebumps from it.

The "meeting" seems over now, as the others file out of the Forge.  
Dric seethes and gestures wildly to some peers as they leave. 

The Medic turns her attention back to you.  
"Now, child. Ner gai Yenta. Tion gar gai?"

"Ner gai - " you answer, still wobbly on your legs, and add your name, and then some. "Jate'urcye gar! Vor entye! Ori'vor'e! Vor entye!" You just can't thank her too much!

"Oh, so polite!" She... snickers? And it's the most relieving sound ever.  
"You'll have to tell me where you learned Mando'a! But for now, I'll just show you around a bit. Come."

As you leave with her, the Armorer nods at Paz to come over to her.

"You'll keep an eye on her," she instructs him in a low voice, "and on Dric."

He grunts a yes and follows you at a distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (from [mandoa.org](https://www.mandoa.org/) and my own small grasp of the language):  
>   
> Jate'urcye gar -- Good to meet you  
> buir -- [boo-EER] -- father/mother/parent  
> beskar'gam -- [BES-kar-GAM] -- armor  
> vor entye -- [vor-ENT-yay] -- Thank you (lit. *I accept a debt*)  
> ori'vor'e -- [AW-ree-VOHR-ay] -- Thanks a lot! Thanks a million!


	5. Ja'hailir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paz watches and is a bit of a jerk (but he has to because he only wants to protect his people).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware, POV change ahead.  
> I need to montage through some time here.

He keeps two eyes on her. 

Takes note of little habits because a change in these might suggest suspicious activities. 

Traps her in a corner even, blaster on her head, to make clear that he's gonna watch her and that if he finds the _slightest_ hint of her endangering his people, he will not hesitate to shoot her brains out.  
It's the right thing to do, he thinks, but he doesn't feel very good afterwards.

After a while he's not sure if she's the best or the worst spy ever. Or even a spy at all.

For one, whatever she feels, it's written right over her face. It's oddly fascinating to watch, although most of the time he's not good at reading it. But then, how could he? Last time he's seen a face other than his own in a mirror was… well, a long time ago. Still, a good spy would have more control over that, right? 

Then, sometimes she gets so caught up in a task, she seems to completely forget her surroundings and it needs two or more calls to get her attention. A good spy would always be aware of what's going on, right?

And she sings, almost all the time, basically giving her position away freely, so whoever looks for her can just follow the voice. It's weird songs in languages he doesn't know, sometimes even just a humming or whistling without any words. That's not something a spy would do, right?

But then, maybe it's all a ruse to lead them astray, soothe their suspicions, to hit at the most unexpected moment.

One time he finds her in a corridor she's not supposed to be.  
Finally! he thinks, and barks at her, how this wing is off limits, it's the private quarters, she should just read the sign.

So she looks at the sign, squints her eyes, readjust her glasses and does that weird scrunchy face thing she always does when she's thinking. And he's stumped because he never actually considered that she just couldn't read the signs.

"You can't read this, can you?" he growls, as she throws annoyed looks at the letters.

"Look, the only letter I recognize is the K in the middle because it kinda looks like the K I'm used to … just, like.. rotated.. and with an extra dash.. and, like, more roundish… Who thought of these letters anyway? Why are they so condensed? It's so hard on the eyes! So what's it say?"

"Yamikase."

"Kamikaze?"

He goes and points at the letters.  
"Y-A-M-I-K-A-S-E."

"That's a plural!"

"Yes." He nods. "It means rooms."

"So yamika is one room?"

"Yes."

"Wait, but why is the plural not yamike? The plural for ad'ika is ad'ike, isn't it?"

She's excited now and he tilts his bucket in confusion.  
"I… you have to ask Yenta about that. She's _that_ way," he points with emphasis, "and you should leave."

"Okay, yes, right." 

Her shoulder slump, and she walks a few steps in the direction he pointed at. Then turns around again.

"What's a Yam, though?"

He sighs. "It's a... " - he makes an uncertain gesture at the general surroundings - "... house, or a building."

"Okay. Thanks." She takes another few steps, then turns around once more.

"Also thank you for not shooting me for getting lost, I guess."

Her sad little smile throws him more off than he cares to admit. "Go. Now. Or I will shoot eventually."

She flinches, mumbling a half-ironic "Yes, sir." and leaves.

A spy would not engage him into grammar discussions, right?

He watches as she walks down the hallway. A passerby stretches out his foot and she trips and falls.  
A spy wouldn't look that sad and lost.  
  
Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations and pronunciations (if available) from [mandoa.org](https://www.mandoa.org/), and The Total Guide to Mandalorian Language by Tal'jair Rusk:
> 
> ja'hailir -- [jah-HIE-leer] -- observe, watch over  
> yamika -- [yah-MEE-kah] -- room, chamber  
> yamikase -- rooms, chambers  
> yam -- [yahm] -- building, house, construction


	6. Vaar'tuur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You settle into your new covert live. It's not easy, but you find moments of quiet reprieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting out of hand with its growing chapter length and I'm here for it xD

As much as you appreciate not being thrown out, living in the covert is... not easy.

Sure, you have your tasks to do, mostly revolving around kitchen, laundry and cleaning stuff, and if you're completely honest, all that external structure they have going on with rosters, drills etc. - it _is_ kinda good for you, even if you're not completely involved, or sometimes even excluded from particular activities on purpose.

However, these fine Mando folks just can't stop being shitheads and they're not going easy on you. They prank you basically all the time, be it by simply tripping you, or sabotaging whatever task you're doing so you have to start anew. Dric more than once tries to plant "evidence" on you that you're spying around and trying to sell information to whoever. Much to his chagrin though, Paz, who has basically become your own big blue shadow looming and observing from the distance, always catches him and sets him straight, and Dric will leave you alone after that, at least for a while.

Language is another point. They're always talking in Mando'a - of course they are, it's part of the Resol'nare and their way of life. You are able to understand some words and phrases, and over time pick up some more, but mostly you have no clue what anybody is saying. Sometimes you go and point at a thing and ask what the Mando'a word is. You're not sure what's worse, though: Getting an answer but with the feeling they're not telling you the right meaning - or being met with leaden silence. Sometimes you go and ask Paz to confirm a new word. He's always shortspoken, but honest in his translations, and you kinda get the feeling that he at least notices your efforts to learn.

Over all, though, you are scared they'd throw you out or just shoot you straight away, so you put up a brave front and smile at their antics. Yenta and her apprentice, Briikan, tell you it's going to get better once you find your place, but you can't help wondering how you're supposed to find your place in a place where you are not even wanted. How long can you keep this up before breaking down?

***

You discover one respite, though - the very early morning, when everybody else is still asleep.  
Then the communal kitchen is all yours and you shuffle over the scratchy dark red rug with bare feet and barely opened eyes. You boil some water, pour it into your mug with some caf powder, and just... sit down, breathe, and wake up in peace.

From your seat you can see a slit in the upper wall and there's one short point in time when the sun goes up and shines through that slit and its warmth ghosts along the skin of your face and you sit there basking, smiling, happy for just a short while, feeling almost like the lizard king (who can do anything).

One morning though, your little mindfulness routine is interrupted before it can even get started:  
You blindly run into a wall where there should be none.

A guttural growl escapes you as you force a tired eye open to see what's up. An equally guttural, yet modulated, growl is the answer.

Finally your eye is open enough to perceive - and you find yourself looking at a broad chest clad in a simple t-shirt. Apparently it's connected to Paz' thick blue bucket and a proportionally fitting thick arm that, at the moment, appears to be lost in the cupboard.

You grunt in disapproval at this interruption of your morning ritual.

"Caf", the modulated voice croaks back equally annoyed.

"Ugh", is the most eloquent answer you can muster, and you point at the counter on the opposite side where yesterday you neatly placed everything you'd need in the morning: mug, spoon, caf container, and the water kettle filled with the _exact_ amount of water you need that right now is boiling thanks to hightech timer technology.

"Hrmpf", he proclaims and stomps over. Deprived of the unusual closeness, you suddenly notice how much warmth he was exuding, and how cold the kitchen is, and your non-filtered morning brain wonders shortly what a Paz hug would feel like.

But then you watch, with only one eye open still and growing irritation, as the di'kut pours _your_ water into _his_ mug and uses _your_ spoon to stir _his_ caf.

He takes a sip with a straw and sighs contently at the warm feeling the beverage leaves on its way down.

You stomp over and push him to the side to refill the water kettle.

He chuckles and continues to stand there, sipping his caf through a straw, while you stick your tongue out at him, cross your arms and _will_ the water to boil faster.

Finally, fresh caf steams from your cup. That's all that counts now, and you proceed to ignore the di'kut in the kitchen. You slump down on your seat, mug between your hands, and you breathe and let the anger twirl up with the steamy curls and dissolve into nothing. The sun comes out, and.... yes... you're good. There's a roof over your head, food to fill your belly, and a little happy caf moment in the morning to warm your soul. Things could be worse.

A few serene minutes later you open your eyes - both of them are awake now - and find yourself alone in the empty kitchen. Paz may have left quietly, but your touch-starved morning brain still babbles loudly about hugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation from "Total Guide to Mandalorian Language" by Tal'jair Rusk
> 
> vaar'tuur -- [VAHR-toor] -- morning  
> vaar -- [vahr] -- early, undeveloped, half-grown  
> tuur -- [toor] -- day  
> di'kut -- [DEE-koot] -- idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)


End file.
